Divided by Itself

“I said ‘A doctor. Of course. Stevens. That’s right.’” She laid her hand on his arm, “Would you like one of the…”

“No. I don’t need anyone from this place.” He shook her hand off.

“Truly, Dr. Stevens. I am sorry.”

He turned, knowing there was nothing he could do here, not wanting to see his wife lying still. He had watched how family members acted as they entered the rooms of their deceased loved ones. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d go home.

“There’s no one waiting for you.”

He jumped. Looking wildly around, he squeaked, “Hello?” cleared his throat and barked, “Who’s there? What do you want?”

Silence.

The sunset was an impossible pink. Unnatural. Like a child had scribbled with the wrong color crayons. Surreal and slightly unpleasant. It sunk behind perfectly ordinary grey concrete, which made it all the more annoying.

Dr. Stevens wandered through the parking lot trying to get as much distance as possible between himself and the body of his wife. “Dammit!” he squinted, the light dwindling. Where the hell was his car? He roamed until the sky was thoroughly bruised. Deep purple began turning to charcoal.

“You car is by the entrance. Directly in front of the entrance. Where you left it.”

He spun to find no one. Again. “Get away,” he growled.

“You can distance yourself from her, but not from me.”

He walked some more. Around crushed soda cans, over cigarette stubs, through the sliding doors to room 2357.

24 thoughts on “Divided by Itself”

Yes, well, I’ve had a long day. And I’m tired. And I wrote this last minute. Also, I’m cold and hungry and the wolves are after me. 😉 Okay, I stink. Um. It’s supposed to be Dr. Stevens. He’s kind of losing his mind after losing his wife. He’s hearing voices. But they’re his. Or him. Or I could just call it a day and start on next week’s battle.

I was wondering who the voice was (dead wife come back, ghost? his evil twin brother, alter ego…)
oh he is haunting himself, hearing voices but they are his ooh I get it now lol

love the story though and my favourite line “Like a child had scribbled with the wrong color crayons.” I was babysitting my niece and she had crayons and decided to paint a landscape scenery,…. on the lounge wall, I should have been paying closer attention.

Well you did it for me, Sarah. I realised it was him. But I had to re-read to identify the first instance of his self (other) talk. It is a really interesting take on the prompt “distance”. It’s almost like he needs to distance himself from the hurt, from the acceptance of his wife’s death, but another part is making him realise and accept, which, for his sanity, he probably needs to do. Well done.